


I Am Not

by gyromitra



Series: Days of Our Superhero Lives - R76valentines [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Superhero!AU, and it's still a marvel telenovela, and properties for sale, features Talon-Hydra, no longer complying with promts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: In which there aren’t too many Tracers for once, Talon is still Hydra-like bunch of doofuses, a hero is kidnapped once again, and inappropriate superhero aliases are mentioned.OR“This feels deeply therapeutic.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> It gained a bigger, more convoluted plot, so it might be a little more somber in general now, and in later installments.

To be perfectly frank, the only person he can put the blame on for his current predicament is he himself, so Jack resigns himself to suffering the overwhelming stupidity of being Talon’s hostage and the mind-numbing reality of having to deal with the usual level of intelligence the average Talon grunt is able to display.

“No, really, what do you want to accomplish with that particular stunt?” He inquires, with a long suffering sigh following after he sees the smallest out of the three goons almost glow and vibrate with emotion at being asked a question.

“We are going to take our revenge against Reaper, for the everlasting glory of Talon!” Right. He would massage his temples if not for the fact his hands are cuffed behind his back.

“Do you guys even realize that it was you who betrayed him?” Jack asks again, cocking his head to the side. “Just so you know?”

“That was a preemptive betrayal!” The second Talon goon answers with glee. Jack simply stares at him uncomprehending.

“There is no such thing as a preemptive betrayal. It’s just a simple plain betrayal!” All three goons huddle together to discuss something and Jack doesn’t even try to overhear. He is pretty sure that the groundbreaking revelation they will come up with will only break new grounds in terms of convoluted justifications that make no sense overall to anyone sane.

“We are pretty sure that he would have betrayed the glorious Talon in future so we betrayed him first,” the tallest goon concludes and Jack groans.

“Okay. So how are you going to avenge Talon,” he rolls his eyes here, “by holding me hostage?”

“You and Reaper are dating,” this time it’s the middle one. Under the suit and the mask this one goon is kind of vaguely woman-shaped, Jack decides. Vaguely being the key word.

“I’m not dating Reaper.” This is the truth Jack believes in with full conviction and he will repeat it however many times he has to. He is not dating Reaper, it is the other way around – Reaper is dating him – and to be more precise and use the proper terminology, he is being courted by Reaper. Completely different things, right? Disregarding, of course, the disaster dubbed the First Date, and then the subsequent eight other dates that were catastrophes of their own – mostly when Reaper started getting handsy. No, he was not counting, not at all.

“But you were kissing!”

“A trick of the light, that’s all. And the pollen season.” Jack certainly feels surprised that Talon masks are able to look crestfallen – those three manage to somehow pull it off – at the same time shifting dejectedly on their feet.

“But we already sent our demands!”

Great.

*

He is halfway through his cuffs – thank god for not throwing out that paperclip he probably picked up several months ago – when the Three Talon Stooges, as he has nicknamed them in their absence, return. Jack narrows his eyes at them. The vaguely woman-shaped one coughs and elbows the shortest goon.

“There was a change of plans. We are going to ransom you.”

“Ransom. Me. To whom?” In retrospection, when the answer is given, he was better off not asking.

“To Blackwatch.”

Jack cringes, internally and outwardly, because, Jesus fucking Buddha on a stick, that codename. It was deeply inappropriate, ha always felt, and incorporated into the history of ethn… non-caucasian heroes color-coding themselves. There was Black Panther, Black Ranger, Red Lightning, Yellow Lightning.

And Yellow Lightning guy was something else, he has to admit. He was a speedster but his name led to many electrocutions, both intentional and accidental, because most of the people associate lightning with electricity, not speed. Then he changed his name to Yellow Speedo to dispel the doubts pertaining to his powers. After much snickering, someone enlightened him to what exactly a speedo is. The whole affair was made even more disturbing considering the fact that Yellow Lightning was a third generation British citizen and there was no language barrier to speak of.

Anyway, the guy went off the deep end spectacularly, and it involved the yellow Borat-style mankini. The sight was still seared into his retinas.

“What?” Jack snaps at the Talon goon waving a hand in front of his eyes and the guy jumps back.

“You were pretty gone there…” Right. Whatever Gabriel wants to call himself, it’s his damn own codename, and Jack has no right to comment on it – excluding the incredulous ‘Are you nuts?’ the first time – however problematic or symptomatic he feels it is.

“Why Blackwatch? You’d have more luck with the organization as a whole!” Being a hero usually was no recipe for printing money, unless one found a way to monetize it, like Meka or Frog both did. Or that leather fetish bat guy.

“But aren’t you two, you know, an item?” Jack closes his eyes, sighs deeply and counts to ten.

“God, no, not… He’s with Wonder Boy.”

The Three Stooges cluster together yet again for a momentary debate. Then the tallest of them leans away to ask.

“But aren’t you and Wonder…” Nope, not even going there, he will never acknowledge there ever being any similarity between them, at any given point of time.

“No!” Because, damn this all, no-one and nothing will make him admit he might have been… anything like Wonder Boy. This time Jack certainly doesn’t have a scrap of sympathy for the Three Talon Stooges as they mournfully shuffle their feet together.

“Ma!” Someone calls from the outside. “The ‘tatoes are burning!”

The woman-shaped Talon goon shrieks in horror and runs up the stairs, bounding several steps in each jump.

*

After finally slipping off the cuffs (he should really leave them a note saying that they are not, in fact, one size fits all, his wrists are chaffed), Jack briefly inspects the small basement room and the cursory glance through the window reveals the fenced in backyard with a well-groomed lawn. And a pool. Apparently, being a goon to a vast criminal empire, while not reputable, does put the food on the table.

“Eat your broccoli, young man!”The shrill voice comes from the garden.

“But Ma…”

“And you too, Steven!”

“Yes, pumpkin.” He recognizes the cadence of the tallest goon.

Jack creeps up the stairs, but on the way, he swipes an old rusty wrench from the wall because, really, he deserves it for the inconvenience. Torbjörn likes vintage gadgets just like this one and it’s always great to be in good graces of your local fix-it-all, especially if you more often than not use experimental technology. The last time he asked for help from the Architect, Satya charged him through the nose, and the less said about the rest, the better. It should be enough to mention that percentage displays were not to be trusted, ever.

Besides, the Three Talon Stooges could have fed him, Jack would certainly be more amiable then, and less prone to grabbing old rusty wrenches from their basement. And just as he opens the doors…

“Oh, good, I don’t have to kill anyone.” The surprise makes him put his foot down a second too early and Jack cringes at the crunch that resonates up to his hip as he gracelessly falls down on his knee. Just figures. “Need help, darling?”

“No, I’m on all fours for fun,” Jack glares up at Reaper, whose strangely fond expression changes into something else.

“I’m not complaining, darling, the sight is tempting.” Damn his complexion – because he can feel his ears burning already. Why? What did he ever do to deserve this?

“Just… just shut up and help me stand up. It’s all your fault. You stood me up.” Reaper smiles a bit sheepishly – which in itself is deeply suspicious – while hoisting him up in his arms.

“Yes. I forgot that too.”

“You forgot you asked me out?” Jack stares at him incredulously, foregoing at the moment the question of why is he being carried exactly, it’s only a sprained ankle and he can very well limp on his own, thank you very much.

“No. I forgot there’s more than one Darbar, and you’ll go to the other one. Probably,” Reaper amends with haste.

“Really? What’s the other thing that you for…” There’s a click of a camera phone to the side and Jack freezes in horror.

“Yo, dudes, your old married bickering is, like, all hot and sweet, but could you, like, clear out, before the old bats notice he’s, like, missing?” The teen taps her foot expectantly. Jack abandons any remaining vestiges of dignity and buries his face in the crook of Reaper’s neck with a pained groan.

“Hit me with the files later.”

“Five hundred bucks.”

“Done.” Reaper somehow produces a card with his contact details and throws it at the girl.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Jack murmurs outside later.

“Of course, darling.” Reaper agrees.

*

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel, clad in his full assault gear, asks surprised.

“I live here,” Jack feels a little bit offended. After all, they are now in the communal rooms, and questioning his right to be here is downright mean.

“I mean…” The other man makes a strange gesture in the air. “I got the ransom note.” Roadhog chooses this exact moment to wave at them candidly. He is holding the teacup between his fingers like it is made from the most delicate china – it is not – and his pinky is outstretched. It looks ridiculously pretentious.

“Right. But what are they doing here? They are terrorists and mercenaries…”

“Yo, mate, I take offense at that! We are terrorists for hire!” Junkrat voices his immediate concerns from the couch. Like ‘terrorist for hire’ is any better than the ‘mercenary and terrorist’. And he is drinking his tea with a straw!

A subtle cough from above doesn’t escape Jack’s attention either and he cringes internally. Right.

“They delivered the ransom note.”

“Right. I got out by myself, I’m not some damsel in distress.” Gabriel just stares at him, his whole posture questioning, and the slight snicker coming from Reaper… Right. It would be more convincing if he weren’t just at the moment held in the bridal carry, and the traitorous blush creeps up his neck. Whatever happens, Jack decides, they are both certifiable arseholes. Maybe one more than the other. “I… I twisted my ankle because he startled me. When I was getting out. Out of the basement.”

“Nice suburban property for sale. They had a pool in the backyard,” Reaper interjects and Jack groans because he knows Gabriel…

“How far and how much? Do they have a listing?”

“For fuck’s sake!” He has had enough, Jack decides, pointing accusingly at Gabriel. “You are not thinking about buying property from Talon agents, and you,” he now glares upwards. “Just sit me down on the damn chair and bring me a fucking ice pack!”

“As you wish, darling,” Reaper declares quite loudly while leaving for kitchen and Jack buries his face in his hands. Why? Just why? What did he ever do to deserve all of this?

*

Jack casts a distrustful glance at Reaper and future Lena – both of them seem to be conversing lightly – and he, sure as hell, does not believe in their good intentions at the moment, not after the whole, ongoing, embarrassment. Not to mention he hears them both over Roadhog and Junkrat complimenting Ana and her tea. And the occasional slurping noises Junkrat does with the straw.

“That was so unfair, threatening me with Ems,” Tracer fumes.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Reaper sounds very self-satisfied.

“I wouldn’t eat the whole cake!”

“You’d eat almost the whole cake.” Lena scoffs at that.

“By the way, Reaps, why you still here, luv? You know how he is, he won’t talk to you tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for nothing,” Reaper chuckles.

“Miss wha…? Oh. Oh!” Tracer’s face lights up with a wicked smile. Yes, Jack thinks, he was very right to not trust them, because they are scheming something.

“I can hear you!” Jack hisses at them, ready to add more choice words, when the doors slam open and Wonder Boy saunters in, dragging Gabriel behind.

“I told you Old Fart didn’t… You!” The blonde stops, narrowing his eyes at Reaper, who, in turn, wriggles his metal talons at him.

“Hello, little shit,” the villain responds cheerfully. Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, preparing for the incoming screaming match he really would like to avoid right now. “Long time no see.”

Wonder Boy reddens like a tomato (damn their complexion, Jack muses) and seethes with malice through his teeth.

“See, the princess didn’t need rescuing by you.”

And for Jack, enough is enough – the whole ordeal and the humiliation has worn his patience paper thin, the fucking blonde dweeb deserves it undoubtedly because Jack had never done anything to antagonize him - so the ankle be damned as he stands up and takes a swing, not as strong as he would have liked, but apparently it is sufficient because Wonder Boy just drops to the ground knocked out cold.

Reaper grins like a cat that ate the canary, Lena throws confetti in the air and two mercenaries raise their teacups in congratulatory motion. Gabriel looks like he would like to say something but lacks words at the moment.

Jack stares at his clenched fist and clears his throat.

“This feels deeply therapeutic,” he says to no-one in particular.


End file.
